Hidden Message
by esompthin
Summary: Francis is unaware that Arthur knows French and ends up saying some pretty cute stuff. idek. fruk. oneshot. human names used.


Happy (Early) Valentines Day N Stuff.

Have a oneshot.

* * *

"Tu es très beau."

Arthur didn't even look up from his book. He hummed nonchalantly as he turned the page, "What was that?"

Francis smiled as he watched the other man, "Nothing, nothing."

They have been doing this for weeks now, this little game. At first Francis was subtle, almost shy, about his comments. He would mumble them to himself; his eyes adverted, waiting for a snide remark in return. But Arthur would never reply. The Brit would continue on his merry way, completely ignoring the other man. At first, that hurt. Francis felt rejected with each attempt. He would rather have Arthur insult him and argue than just ignore him completely. But then he realized something that he hadn't yet considered.

Perhaps the reason Arthur wasn't really reacting to his little comments, was simply because he didn't _know _French.

Crazy idea, right? Who wouldn't want to know the language of l'amour?

But Francis wouldn't put it past Arthur to refuse to learn his language just to spite him.

With this newfound knowledge, the Frenchman continued to shower the other with his words. Each time growing bolder and more enthusiastic, and since Arthur wouldn't be any the wiser, he spoke his true feelings about the other man.

* * *

Arthur sighed as he let the Frenchman in. "Honestly, do you even have a home?"

"I thought this was my home." Francis winked, smiling cheekily. The air was light, it smelled like candles and new books. Sunlight shown through the windows, brightening the room.

The Brit rolled his eyes and turned towards the kitchen, "Do you want anything? Coffee, right?"

"Oui. Merci. Tu es l'homme de me rêves." Francis watched the other man carefully as he turned back to him with an annoyed look.

"So was that a yes?"

When Francis nodded and Arthur escaped into the kitchen, both of them had to hold back a blush and a cheesy grin.

* * *

Arthur knows French.

_Of course_ Arthur knows French.

Arthur has _always_ known French.

In fact, a majority of the time when he goes out drinking, but doesn't want to talk to anyone, he'll pretend he's French, so the other Brits in the pub will leave him alone.

If Arthur died, and was reincarnated into a jellyfish off the coast of Australia, that jellyfish would be stinging people while whispering 'bonjour' to other jellyfish.

That's how well Arthur knows French.

But Francis doesn't know Arthur knows. And that's what really matters.

Because a part of Arthur is waiting for the Frenchman to tell him it was all a joke. He's waiting to be let down. So, he ignores the sweet comments the other man says. Which usually isn't that hard. But sometimes that's the hardest part.

Arthur had just made himself his third cup of tea, he needed to finish this paper, and he had no time to waste on whining Frenchmen.

"Arthur! All you do is work! Why don't we go out? Enjoy the town?" Francis was sprawled catastrophically across Arthur's couch. One of his arms wrapped over his head, his hand in his hair, the other was flopped over the side of the couch, fingertips just barely touching the floor. One of his legs was hitched up over the back of the couch. The other was hidden under a pile of pillows and blankets. As he spoke he twisted and contorted his body in a childish manner.

"No! Why don't you call your friends and go with them?" Arthur hissed as he focused on one paragraph of his paper.

Francis rolled to his stomach, propping his head up with his hands, "They're busy."

Arthur's head whipped around to glare at the other man. "And what do you think I am?" He took a gulp of tea to try to keep himself focused, but he couldn't pull his eyes away from the Frenchman's unbroken gaze.

"Tu es l'amour de ma vie." Francis replied without hesitation.

Arthur's lungs then decided to be suicidal and inhale his gulp of tea, causing the poor boy to choke and gasp for his breath. He turned back to his work, his face brighter than the sun in a desert. "J-just let me do my work. We can go eat after."

Francis groaned but resolved to take a nap until the other man finished.

* * *

It was raining. It's always bloody raining.

But they didn't expect the rain to come down so hard or so fast. The boys were huddled together, under a small umbrella as they waited for a bus that might not even show up. With every passing moment, they get more soaked. And with every passing moment they shift closer to each other.

"It's a downpour." Francis mutters to himself, finding the need to fill the silence that engulfed them in the middle of the storm.

"No, it's a hurricane." Arthur replied, finding the need to strike up an argument to keep hearing the sound of Francis's voice.

"It's a washing machine with no drain."

"It's the splash-zone at Sea World."

"It's the bottom of the ship, where all the leaky holes are."

"It's fucking wet, is what it is."

"That, I believe, is what she said."

Arthur rolled his eyes, "Shut up." There was a slight pause, as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other, as he did so, his hand brushed against Francis's. He ignored how warm the other man's skin felt. "Sometimes I honestly can't live with this weather."

"Je ne peux pas vivre sans toi." Francis mumbled in reply.

And if Arthur's hand slipped inside Francis's then it was because it was cold. And if on the bus ride home Arthur's head is resting on Francis's shoulder, that's just because he's tired and he doesn't know better when he's tired.

* * *

After a while of this, Arthur began to think that maybe, just maybe, there won't be a punchline at the end of this joke. Maybe, but this might just be wishful thinking, Francis is 100% serious. So he took a chance. One day when Francis was over, and he was always over, Arthur cleared his throat.

"I've got to ask you something." Arthur said, his expression serious. Francis nodded, sitting up slightly as the other continued. "Those… things you've been saying to me… in French…." He trailed off, losing his voice.

Francis inhaled sharply through his nose at the Brit's face. His cheeks were slightly flushed; his bottom lip was being tortured by his teeth. He shook his head and replied coolly, "Do not worry about them. They do-"

"Don't say they don't mean anything." Arthur nearly shouted. Francis's eyes locked onto the other's and they stared at each other, neither looking away. "I… I wouldn't be able to handle you saying all those things meant nothing."

Now Francis's face was as read as Arthur's, "Are you telling me… this _entire time_… you _knew_?" He felt his heart sink and his stomach drop simultaneously. Gravity was working far too hard on him to have all his organs be falling on him like this. Maybe that's why his knees suddenly feel so weak.

Here it comes. Here comes the hateful glare. The spit of disgust. The declaration of war. Here comes the end of everything Francis held dear.

Arthur glanced down at his feet, before looking up at the other again, "Francis… Est-ce que tu m'aimes?"

Francis had two options here. He could say no, save himself the embarrassment of rejection. Or he could tell the other how he really feels. With a deep breath, he says whole-heartedly, "Chaque jour je t'aime davantage. Aujourd'hui plus qu'hier. Et bien moins que demain."

Arthur crossed the room in two quick strides. Francis stared up at the him, his fate in his hands. Arthur leant down to whisper in Francis's ear, "Puis embrasse-moi. "

And, well, the French don't have to be told twice.

* * *

Ayyye, I'm not French, so if any of these are wrong, then fuck me. But I'm pretty sure their right. Anyway, tell me what you think!

Translations:

Tu es très beau – you are very handsome

Oui. Merci. Tu es l'homme de me rêves – Yes. Thank you. You are the man of my dreams.

Tu es l'amour de ma vie – you are the love of my life

Je ne peux pas vivre sans toi – I cannot live without you

Est-ce que tu m'aimes? – Do you love me?

Chaque jour je t'aime davantage. Aujourd'hui plus qu'hier. Et bien moins que demain. – Each day I love you more. Today more than yesterday. And much less than tomorrow. (poem by Rosemonde Gérard)

Puis embrasse-moi – then kiss me


End file.
